


a toast to those left behind

by mollivanders



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coda, Depression, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-08
Updated: 2010-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollivanders/pseuds/mollivanders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere, Remus thinks, he and Sirius are joking about the dinner Sirius just burnt before heading to the sitting room. Somewhere, it is possible, they forsake sitting on the couch like normal people and instead lean against it on the carpet, Sirius twisting his wrist casually to flick the Wizarding Wireless Network on while Remus steals a piece of meat from his dinner plate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a toast to those left behind

**Author's Note:**

> **Title: a toast to those left behind**  
>  Fandom: _Harry Potter_  
>  Rating: PG-13  
> Characters: Remus/Sirius  
> Summary: For baticeer at the [Harry Potter Non Canon Ship Fic-a-thon](http://anythingbutgrey.livejournal.com/774727.html) for the prompt _Remus/Sirius, in another lonely universe, we're laying side by side_. Word Count - 581.  
>  Spoilers: Through the end of Book 5. This turned into a bit of an angst fest.  
> Disclaimer: JKR owns Harry Potter. I own nothing.

Somewhere, Remus thinks, he and Sirius are joking about the dinner Sirius just burnt before heading to the sitting room. Somewhere, it is possible, they forsake sitting on the couch like normal people and instead lean against it on the carpet, Sirius twisting his wrist casually to flick the Wizarding Wireless Network on while Remus steals a piece of meat from his dinner plate.

(Somewhere, Sirius jostles against him for the food and they crash haphazardly to the floor, laughing, before Sirius’ knee nudges Remus’ legs apart, Remus’ head knocking dully against the carpet when Sirius drags a mark against his neck, hands clutching at each others’ robes and the fire making the room suddenly, unbearably hot.)

Somewhere, Remus is not in this world, hand cradling a mirror that no longer reflects anything worth looking at. Here, Remus lets go of the robes he was clutching without realizing it, emotion draining from his body. Here, Grimmauld Place is hollow and echoes with all the wrong ghosts, a muttering from the kitchen the only parentheses to Remus’ thoughts.

He should throw him out (but there’s still gin in the bottle and he’s only halfway through the scrapbook. Kreacher can wait).

Then again, Kreacher is a part of Sirius, like the final mocking note of Sirius’ laugh when they would upend Severus at school. Remus tried to restrain him, told him it wouldn’t do any good, but Sirius would just stare darkly at him from where they sat on his four-poster bed.

“I know him better than you think,” he would say.

(That was another life too.)

And somehow, impossibly, Remus thinks as he tips more of the alcohol into his waiting glass (a Black antique, 19th century glass, silver cradle embossed with the family seal that’s sharp against his skin), that life bled into this one.

It’s easier to blame Severus and Kreacher and even Sirius than to stare limply at the photographs in his hands and realize the people to blame for why he’s alone are far beyond his reach.

But without Severus, perhaps Sirius would have been content (Remus snorts mirthlessly and turns another photograph over) to stay here at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place (“cleaning,” a ghost seems to echo) and let Remus do the fighting for now.

He doubts even Bagman would place odds on that one.

(Somewhere, Sirius is breathing evenly against his neck, lost in sleep and not forever, and Remus still has the luxury of twisting his fingers into that dark coarse hair. Somewhere, Sirius is hogging the covers and is only faking sleep as Remus tries to wrestle them back before Sirius disappears beneath them, rending the struggle unnecessary. Somewhere, their friends are amused they're forever overgrown teenagers, like they're the only ones.)

The gin bottle clangs emptily against his glass and Remus raises a defiant glass to the fireplace, to the creaking house and to the happy people jostling in the album by his knees. 

Somewhere, Remus affirms, he and Sirius and James and Lily are living happily ever after. Dragons are real. Three boys showed a werewolf friendship. Severus is an ally. Stranger things have happened.

“To the Marauders, meeting again,” he toasts bravely, as though they’re still listening, (but suddenly the house doesn’t seem so empty (somehow, the ghosts seem more familiar.))

He can almost see (taste, hear, feel) them, and as though he's the prefect reminding them, gets off the floor and puts the album away, comforted.

(Somewhere is a start.)

_Finis_


End file.
